


the stars in your eyes paint the world red

by a-waste-of-time-and-hot-glue (falloutboiruto)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ableism, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fantastic Racism, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Swearing, brainwashing/radicalization of another into a hate movement, brief blink-and-you-miss-it mention of alcohol, intentionally written to be an uncomfortable read, probably very anachronistic, rated E for graphic violence and gore, trippy ptsd sequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29984523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutboiruto/pseuds/a-waste-of-time-and-hot-glue
Summary: Albus Dumbledore’s first love left him with a lifetime of regrets. What really happened in Godric's Hollow during the summer of 1899?
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	the stars in your eyes paint the world red

**Author's Note:**

> *arrives to the fandom 15 years late with starbucks*  
> hi and welcome to my harry potter fanfic addressing a loose plot thread i've wanted to see wrapped up since 2007.  
> "she who must not be named" will not be getting any money from me (except maybe pay her to delete her twitter) so i'll just write this shit myself.  
> i changed some canon events from the books to fit better in my own narrative. the only thing from the fantastic beasts movies i’m including is adult grindelwald’s canon appearance. there is no unbreakable bond between dumbledore and grindelwald, grindelwald is just a shitty abusive ex-bf.  
> thanks to; my historian student friend johannes for teaching me about victorian england, @ kittyquark for the german translations in this fanfic(there are english translations of the german lines in the end notes if u are curious), @ powderpuffdyke for britpicking/fixing the grammar, and to @ reaperduckling for beta-reading, as always.  
> this fic is a gift for my childhood friend petrix. we both grew up with harry potter and now that the author turned out to be a POS, it's hard to reconcile ones' relationship w/ the franchise. this is my attempt at taking ownership of my interpretation of the text.

**Hogwarts, 1997**

Albus Dumbledore is dying slowly at the top of the Astronomy Tower. The dark mark floats just above the pointed rooftop. Draco Malfoy’s wand is directed at him in what the young man claims is murderous intent. While he has indeed succeeded in disarming Albus, the actual murder part proves just as unsuccessful as Albus’ attempts to persuade him to leave the Death Eaters. Well, there’s still some hope left for the boy, but that’s a different story. 

A gaggle of particularly nasty Death Eaters stomps up the stairs. Quippy banter is had or at least attempted from his side (these Death Eaters are not quite the merry kind). All the while, Harry Potter lays paralyzed on the floor under his invisibility cloak just a few meters away. Albus’ insides twist as if lit aflame and he crouches lower against the stone-brick wall for support. He thinks of his sister Ariana. Her life and death have been etched into his mind for a century, sure. But ingesting the potion that’s currently liquifying his intestines has brought her memory back with the gusto of a herd of charging thestrals. It happened 98 years ago, but now, it was only yesterday. It’s painful. When Severus Snape, double agent extraordinaire, arrives at the scene and takes charge Albus feels nothing but gratitude. Finally.

“Severus… Please.”

(He wishes that Harry wasn’t here to see this. The knowledge that Albus has caused the boy worse pain before is his biggest regret. That, and the fact that he'll continue to hurt him worse posthumously.)

Severus’ mouth moves. The distorted memory of Ariana’s voice drowns the exact words out, but Albus knows. He knows. Severus’ wand traces a zig-zag pattern and his aim is perfect, _graceful._ The killing curse hits Albus Dumbledore’s chest like a train on a track.

**Godric’s Hollow, 1899**

Albus closes the heavy front door behind him after Mum’s funeral. His home has never felt so empty before. It's early July, in the middle of an out-of-the-ordinary heatwave compared to the typically lukewarm and rainy English summer. When he takes his hat off his scalp feels suffocated by sweat. He just graduated from Hogwarts. He’d planned to travel the world with a friend-but now, he’s here. Stuck. Ariana and Aberforth have already gone up the stairs. She's unconsciously throwing things again. Something particularly brittle breaks upstairs. Perhaps Aberforth will be Ariana’s next victim after Mum. The corner of Albus’ mouth twitches. His gallows humour is a feeble attempt to cover up a real fear. He wants to cry, but can’t. Ariana can’t help her violent outbursts of magic. He knows that. This is unfair to everyone, but especially to her.

Their neighbour and Mum’s only sort-of-friend, Ms. Bagshot, had invited herself to bring them supper later on; Albus hopes that she’ll stay downstairs. Before all this, Albus had been fairly confident in his leadership abilities. Now, he’s not so sure. He desperately wants someone, anyone, to tell him what to do. 

Ariana is his responsibility now. Aberforth, his younger, cruder, more compassionate brother, will only be here for the summer. Come September 1st when the Hogwarts Express departs from Platform 9 ¾, Albus will be solely responsible for her. His sister’s screams even drown out the crash of the wooden chair tumbling down the stairs. It breaks apart into splinters by the time they reach the other end. Albus sighs and draws his wand;

Reparo. The fragments slot neatly into place one after one. Broken by magic (and fall damage) and mended by magic. The chair is good as new, if only for a few scuff marks. A door slams upstairs. Aberforth’s footsteps creak down the stairs. His dark suit looked smart just this morning, but now he's disheveled and tired. He pinches his brow. The lines of his forehead are deep, unnervingly deep on a teenager. But alas.

“What you do is to keep calm,” Aberforth sighs. “And-” He motions to the repaired chair. “Hey, you’ve got the idea already. So, here on out- learn to accept any help Ms. Bagshot will offer. She’s a lot, but quite helpful. And extremely fond of you.”

Albus nods. Ms. Bagshot hadn’t only promised supper, she had also promised to introduce him to someone. Someone that she thought would help him. Doesn’t sound too likely, but he’ll humour her.

“Anyway, it’s only going to be a year, sans holiday breaks. After I graduate, you can go do-” Aberforth swishes around his wrist non-specifically. “You can go on doing whatever it is that you do. Was it something fancy?”

“I had plans to travel the world.” Albus can’t help the slight rise in his voice.

“Yes. But now you’re staying here. I don’t like it either. Honestly, wouldn’t trust you farther than I can Flipendo you-”

“Which is ‘none at all’.”

“Urgh.” Aberforth rolls his eyes. “Okay. Back to Ariana. She’s not as mad as you think. She’s smart, she’s funny, she loves the same stuffy novels you do. And don’t tell Mum, but-” He sighs even deeper. Wipes at his eyes and snivels. “Ariana doesn’t just feed the goats in the backyard, she likes to go on walks too. We go into town at night, when it’s dark. No people around. You have to be careful, but don’t treat her like she’s broken. Alright?” He spits on the floor. Not even to make a point, he just does. _Indoors._ Okay.

While his brother has always been… gruff, the origins of Albus’ current lack of patience for Aberforth is a mystery. Albus has never been inclined to make enemies with others and generally doesn’t mind what others consider socially unacceptable or not. But Aberforth grinds at him like nails on a chalkboard. Well, the feeling is clearly mutual.

“I understand,” Albus says. If he can’t be cordial, he can at least be polite.

Ms. Bagshot brings shepherd’s pie that evening. Supper is uneventful, but Albus’ mind keeps drifting to the what-ifs of Ariana having an episode in front of Ms. Bagshot. Ariana eats and makes small talk with their neighbour with Aberforth acting as a social buffer. Ms. Bagshot eyes Albus between bites, but he doesn’t add much to the conversation. The meat pie should taste quite well based on the content mood of his tablemates. But to Albus it might as well be the soil that Mum was buried in.

-

A few days later, at noon, Ms. Bagshot knocks on the door. Asks him to join her. Albus is in the middle of a stilted conversation about his favorite character in a muggle book Ariana and he share an interest in. Albus' disinterest attracts nasty looks from Aberforth. With anyone else, he could talk about the book for hours. But in this case, he’ll gladly accept an excuse to leave. 

“I’ll be out for a minute!” He shouts back down the hallway to placate his siblings. He doesn’t wait for an answer. 

Ms. Bagshot ushers him towards her house, a cottage quite identical to his childhood home, only smaller. Must’ve been built at the same time, by the same people. Two of a pair. 

His neighbour mentions a great-nephew. He didn’t know Ms. Bagshot had a family.

“He’s visiting for summer, I think you two will get along.” Ms. Bagshot leaves Albus standing in the well-kept yard while she goes indoors to retrieve said great-nephew. A minute passes, maybe two.

"Tante Bathilda? Ich hab mich gefragt woh Ich denn mein gepäck hinstellen sollte!” A young man, around Albus’ age, rounds the corner of the house and stops dead in his tracks. He blinks, hard. “Aber hallo! Eeh, ne- Wait,” he switches to English. Clears his throat. “Pardon, I thought I heard Aunt Bathilda’s voice. I assume you’re the neighbour?” The mystery boy holds out his hand in greeting. He’s in travel clothes stained with glitter specks from floo powder. A suitcase in one hand. Albus feels somehow both overdressed yet underdressed in his light summer shirt and waistcoat.

He’s tall. Taller than Albus, which is an unusual occurrence. Something about the other’s sharp cheekbones delays Albus’ reaction and adds a stutter to his response. Mystery boy’s handshake is firm, though.

“Ms. Bagshot just went in… s-she went through the front door just now. You missed her, you did.”

“I came from the backyard, so that makes sense.” Mystery boy raises his eyebrows. As if he’s waiting. Their hands are still clasped, Albus falters and lets go. Mystery boy snorts out a laugh. “Oookay then. Well, I’m Gellert.” He’s clearly still waiting for something.

“Ms. Bagshot’s great-nephew, yes.”

“That’s me! Now,” Gellert waggles his eyebrows, and it’s as incomprehensible as it is torturous. “I would like to know your name as well. Or should I just call you Neighbour? Seems quite formal to me.”

“I’m Albus. Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore.” Why can’t Albus stop his hands from shaking around someone so relaxed? Why?

“Ah yes, from Hogwarts? My aunt is a big fan of yours. She said you have bright ideas and that Hogwarts fosters great minds. The same can’t be said about Durmstrang. No creative freedom at all. I should’ve asked to be schooled in the United Kingdom instead.”

Albus would’ve very much liked to have attended Hogwarts with this boy. Despite meeting Gellert a minute ago, he wants to know everything about him. Starting with-

“How was Durmstrang, then?”

Gellert deflects with a flip of his mid-length blonde hair. “Not interesting enough to discuss. Oh, there you are-” Ms. Bagshot stands at the steps to the front door.

“I thought I’d lost you, Gellert,” Ms. Bagshot chuckles. “To think you were here all along. I take it you two have introduced yourselves?”

Gellert gives her a thumbs up while Albus scrambles for a puny _Yes._ Gellert taps Albus on the shoulder, and it feels too much and too real and too much and too good all at the same time. Gellert is suddenly talking again;

“I really have to get my luggage sorted. I’ll only be gone for a second. You wait right here, Albus.” He pats Albus on the shoulder, yet again, and runs into the house.

When Albus gets back to his own dark house much, much too late at night the light from his wand reveals piles of discarded and disfigured silverware strewn across the hallway and kitchen. Ariana's handiwork, no doubt. A few bent spoons litter the top flight of the stairs. Albus tries to untwist and sort them all into the right drawers and cabinets, but some are beyond salvation. Not even magic can fix them. His siblings’ are fast asleep throughout, which is how he prefers it.

Finally, Albus shuts his bedroom door tight behind him and rubs at his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Exhales.

"Nox."

He's lost in a completely different way now.

-

Gellert Grindelwald is charming. Too charming for Albus’ own good. 

They have so much in common, both in regards to interests and intellectual/magical capabilities. This would make their newfound friendship a match made in heaven, yet when around Gellert, Albus’s insides are too busy twisting into a fuzzy mess to bring his full potential to the conversation. Whenever Gellert asks him a question, his answer is one that he later ends up regretting. Struggling to make small-talk with his siblings over supper is nothing compared to the nervous wreck Gilbert reduces him to with just one look. Yet, he can’t keep himself from coming back for more.

One day, they’re talking about nothing and everything at the same time. The bright sun made them seek refuge in the shade of Ms. Bagshot’s apple tree yard. The light breeze shifts the harsh shadows cast by the foliage above.

“Your sister,” Gellert remarks, out of nowhere. “She’s sick, right?”

Albus winces. He has tried his hardest to keep Ariana from Gellert’s knowledge. He introduced Gellert to Aberforth in passing, but neither of them viewed the other with much interest. “How’d you know-” 

“I've seen her frequent tantrums in your backyard. Aunt Bathilda told me some things, and I pieced it together. Why is she sick?”

Albus desperately wants Gellert to truly know him. The family secrets he has kept for all his life spill out like they mean nothing. Of how Ariana, only six years old, was attacked by muggle boys that saw her practicing magic. About how it broke her, about how Dad went after the boys responsible and died a prisoner’s death in Azkaban because of it. About how Ariana’s explosive illness tore his family apart. And at last; that Albus must now stay in Godric’s Hollow and take care of Ariana. His own ambitions and dreams don’t matter until Aberforth finishes school in a year and can resume his duties as Ariana’s caretaker.

Gellert stays quiet for a bit. Studies him, intently. “So the muggle society ruined your family?”

That’s not how Albus would put it. The parents of his muggle born-friends have been nothing but welcoming to him. He tells Gellert as much.

“Yes, well, what about the other muggles?”

Albus' answer is the same.

“Do those muggles know that you’re not one of them? What would happen if they found out?”

“Muggles don’t stand much of a threat to us even if they tried,” Albus says. “The international statute of secrecy is quite easily kept.”

“And yet, muggles hurt your sister. Why should we be the ones to live in the shadows? Muggles are like cattle to us. If wizards were the ones in charge, Ariana wouldn’t be sick right now. You’d be free. What if I told you that there’s a way to overthrow them. Have you heard of _the Deathly Hallows_?”

Albus has, of course, heard of The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility before. His father had read The Tale of the Three Brothers as a bedtime story to his siblings and he when they were small. But Albus hasn’t given the Deathly Hallows much thought beyond them symbolizing that magic can bring about as much trouble as it cures. A painfully true moral wrapped in a kid-friendly format. But Gellert says that _the story refers to real magical artefacts, and if one gathers them all, one becomes the Master of Death. And a Master of Death can rule over the living as well._

This makes no sense. But the comfort that Gellert’s company and constant shoulder touches give is enough for Albus to want to believe in it. If Ariana hadn’t been attacked, Dad wouldn’t have been thrown into the gates of hell that is Azkaban. Ariana would be healthy. She’d start her fourth year at Hogwarts come September 1st. Mum would still be here. Albus would’ve gone on that trip with his friend, and he would know what to do with himself. Not like now, where he stares into the ceiling for hours every night instead of sleeping. Everything, from getting dressed, to pretending to want to spend time with Ariana, to getting yelled at by Aberforth, to eating Ms. Bagshot’s home-cooked meals out of the pure goodness of her heart; is an absolute chore.

Something clicks. Gellert is convincing enough that overthrowing the muggle governments for the greater good now seems possible for two young men, barely of age. Not just possible, but do-able. With the Deathly Hallows in their grasp it would be easy. They start sending each other letters at night by owl. The owl in question quickly grows tired of flying such a short distance over and over again, and refuses them. So, they shift to levitating the letters windowsill to windowsill. 

There’s a madness to the planning and the scheming. Which Deathly Hallow should they look for first? The Elder Wand is Gellert’s priority, but Albus is mostly interested in the Resurrection Stone. They’ll need supporters. Which country should they start with?

(Albus’ old plans to travel the world with his school friend Elphias Doge feel like ancient history. Elphias did, in fact, go on without him. His friend has sent Albus an awful lot of letters over the summer. The envelopes remain stacked on his bedroom floor, unopened. He’ll read them later. Right now, Gellert is the only person in his life that matters)

How should they avoid suspicion by the British wizarding government? _Bureaucracy ruins everything,_ Gellert writes. _That’s why I got expelled from Durmstrang one year before graduation. They were too stuck in their ways to understand._

Albus just nods and nods. His head fills up with sawdust that tumbles out his mouth to form ink-black words on parchment paper. His chronic insomnia worsens. The content of their face-to-face conversations falls into the same category as their rapid-fire-exchanged letters. Albus has a purpose again. He needs it. He also needs a hug, and Gellert is, as noted, quite generous with physical contact.

And so, Albus falls head over heels.

-

Albus sits on the sofa, illuminated by the glow of a gas lamp. He’s accompanied by the frequent pitter-patter of raindrops on the windowsill. His pocket watch with twelve hands and a circular loop of endlessly drifting planets instead of numbers would’ve not told an average man much, but it tells Albus that it is getting late. He abandons his knitting (socks for Ariana. A peace offering). Albus anticipates what Gellert will write in tonight’s letters. Not even knitting is interesting enough anymore to drown out the thrumming of Gellert’s words swirling on repeat in his mind. _We could make the world a better place, together_ (and he thinks of the way the corners of Gellert’s eyes crinkle when he laughs; an airy wheeze that shouldn’t be half as charming as it is. A string of increasingly high-pitched guffaws follow. All and all; it’s simply too infectious not to join in on).

“Albus?” a voice Albus wasn’t expecting asks. It’s Ariana. She crouches behind the door frame as if she’s playing a game. She retreats and pops out again. Albus stays silent and sneaks the half-done knitwork behind a pile of books and out of his sister’s sight. Ariana rolls her eyes. “Aberforth was right. You have no sense of humour.” 

She snickers and pops down next to him. She sits closer than necessary, there’s plenty of mauve velvet seat cushion left on the other side. The lace ruffles of her white nightgown brush against Albus’ hair and he wants to escape. It’s unfair, but he does. Years of estrangement have made him view his sister at an arm’s length. A formality, a matter of performative politeness. Not as someone to honestly engage with.

“Aberforth did my hair for tonight. You like it?” Ariana says and flips her long auburn braid around. It’s much more intricate than a regular three-strand-braid. Her hair color is only a few shades off from Albus’ own. He’d forgotten about that. The seven years he’d spent at Hogwarts and his sister spent housebound warped his memory. She had been dark-haired in his mind, like Mum. Like Aberforth.

“I do,” Albus says. And, to throw her a bone; “Maybe I should wear my hair like that too. It’s long enough.”

“Oh, oh! Maybe I can try! Turn around!” Ariana’s fingers twist in his hair. It’s unfamiliar. Not like when Gellert runs his finger through Albus’ hair. But Ariana braiding his hair isn’t as uncomfortable as expected. Come to think of it, the interlacing of hair, piece by piece, isn’t too different from knitting. Maybe they have more in common than Albus first thought.

A sudden sharp noise from outside. Ariana freezes. Albus turns his head and is met with the version of her he knows even less about how to deal with. Her eyes are wide open and flicker from side to side as if scanning for threats. The once steady hands resting on Albus’ back jitter. She mumbles something akin to _What’s that?_

“Sit back, I’ll check,” Albus peers through the curtains. The streetlamps reveal a woman with an umbrella fretting over a vase she just dropped. Flowers mix in between the shards and pebbles on the road. “Someone outside dropped a vase. Nothing dangerous.”

“Oh,” she says not to him but the opposing wall. Her eyelids flutter as if she’s falling asleep. Then; “What was that watch you were looking at earlier?”

“I inherited it from Dad.” 

Ariana is wide awake now. Her light eyes perfectly reflect the watch’s dial. The spinning planets are even more beautiful through someone else’s eyes. She blinks, and Albus loses track of the solar system.

“Gimmie," Ariana flexes her shaking hand toward him. She dropped and broke her drinking glass (a family heirloom as well) at yesterday’s breakfast if his memory serves correctly. Albus snaps the locket shut and pockets it. 

“It’s very delicate. You might break it. But I can teach you how to read the dial."

Ariana’s face shifts from amazed to hurt in a millisecond. And then, she spirals. Blabbers. She’s awful, she says, she’s horrible, something something about Mum. It’s a stab to the chest; and more. A book left on the coffee table earlier starts to shake, opens, and the pages shred into ribbons. Heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs. Aberforth shoos Albus away with a pointed glare.

Albus stands in the dark hallway as the faint voice of Aberforth tells Ariana to forgive herself. Moonlight streams through the windows and tints his childhood home a cold blue; a sharp contrast to the warm sepias of a well-lit room. The barely visible detailing on the buckles of his pointy-toed boots are easier to focus on than Ariana’s sobbing.

“Just treat her like a person!” Aberforth spits out, later that evening. He’s dropped the careful affect he carries around their sister. “You’re so uncomfortable around her. She can tell. She’s sick, not stupid.”

Aberforth makes it clear, through crude language and even cruder hand gestures, that he doesn’t know what the hell Albus is doing in Godric’s Hollow anymore. Albus doesn’t respond. Any honest answer would anger his brother even more. It’s left unsaid, for now.

-

He and Gellert will travel the world come fall, Gellert says. When Albus feebly objects; What about Ariana? Gellert psh:es and says _She can come with. We’re the brightest wizards of our generation. We can control her. Especially with the Deathly Hallows in our possession._

Gellert tells him of a soup from his home country that he can’t wait to treat Albus to. Albus parrots the name of the dish but his tongue stumbles. He makes a mockery out of the string of vowels and consonants that sounded so beautiful coming out of Gellert’s mouth. Albus desperately wants to hear him say it again. Gellert just laughs. “We can practice your pronunciation on your way there, okay?”

Albus crawls further down the rabbit hole than humanly possible. It’s alarming, really. Suddenly it’s mid-August and it’s getting cold in the evenings again. They sit in Ms. Bagshot’s backyard, on a stone path, right next to the house wall that faces the orange sunset. Ms. Bagshot, most of the time, leaves them completely alone to not distract them from their exchange of bright ideas. She cooks for them and Albus’ siblings like a convenient background prop. Completely ignorant about the contents of their plans, but she’ll thank them one day.

Gellert has gone quiet for uncharacteristically long. Albus shifts with his feet on the ground and pushes his back against the flat wall. The legs of his trousers ride up at his ankles. He considers telling his friend about what kind of knitting stitches his socks are made of. Instead, he goes for a more pressing matter;

“I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Gellert’s brow twitches at Albus’ shaking hands. Suddenly, the intricacies of melding the several careful stitch-by-stitch-knitted pieces together into just one sock is a safer subject. Albus hasn’t gotten around to finishing up Ariana’s gift yet. The socks to-be lay discarded and forgotten behind the living room sofa. He usually doesn’t knit with magic, but he may have to resort to it to speed up the project. Otherwise, she might not have warm winter socks by the time they leave the country. Well-ultimately it’s not a good idea to bring Ariana along with them at all. But that’s not what Gellert wants to hear. 

Albus refrains from bringing up the subject of knitting at all. Instead-

“We’ve only known each other for about a month,” Albus says.

“More like a month and a half.”

“Yes. Well, whenever I’m around you I feel things I’ve never felt before. I-” He frets. Gellert’s face is unreadable. Albus soldiers on. “It's okay if you don't feel the same way. I know it’s so soon and I know it’s too much, but I think that I’m in love with you.” 

His heart sinks as Gellert remains non-expressive. Then, an arm is slung over his shoulder. He didn’t realize how cold it was outside until Gellert volunteered his body heat to him. He’s like a furnace.

“I know,” Gellert whispers against Albus’ lips and kisses them softly.

-

Towards the end of summer, Albus forgets all about knitting patterns. Keeping his siblings company fades completely into the background. If he’s going to care for Ariana while abroad, he won’t know how when the time comes. Planning the revolution to start the road to the utopia of wizard supremacy is all that matters now. What that actually means, and how unnecessary collateral damage in the currency of human lives lost would be avoided, is still quite unclear. Gellert knows how, though, and he’ll tell Albus about it soon. 

Gellert says a lot of things, usually breathlessly, when they’re alone together in the guest bedroom provided for him. Most of it isn't about the greater good, but rather how Albus makes him feel. Albus does his most to coax those words out of him. Without Gellert’s affirmations, Albus is incomplete. His heart will, if not guided by the ribcage to ribcage transmission of his lover’s heartbeat, malfunction and stop. Gellert’s wandering hands on his skin grabbing at the angles of his body and the puffs of hot breath in Albus' ear is the only thing keeping him together. Without it, he will disintegrate at an atomic level.

“You're mine,” Gellert says before, during, and after. Sometimes it's I love yous, other times it's softly whimpered fragments of German swears. If there isn't a hitch or grit to his voice, Albus tries harder. His mouth ends up tasting like salt. When Albus inevitably screws his eyes shut, hard, his favorite star constellations appear on the insides of his eyelids. No night sky shines as bright.

-

It’s already late afternoon when Albus knocks on the door to his own house. He needs to gather some things and Gellert accepted it on the condition that it wouldn’t take long. The face of his brother is a stranger to him at first. Albus mistakes his stark white face and dark hair for Mum before true recognition sets in.

“And where were you?” Aberforth snarls. He holds the door ajar at an angle sharp enough to not allow Albus’ entry.

“I forgot my keys.”

“That wasn’t the question!”

“I was with Gellert.”

“I know! I’m not stupid. I went through the letters he sent you, by the way.”

The distant noises of the small village surrounding them all turn into static. Albus' face numbs. “You did what?” 

“You haven’t been home in days, you smarmy prick! I knew you were up to something. I had to look! I know all about your big plans of overthrowing the muggle governments and making them kneel at your feet. It’s a load of rubbish, it is! And what’s that deadly hollow crap supposed to mean? You’re just two blokes fresh out of school. No wait, Gellert got kicked out before he could even finish school, didn’t he? You two don’t know shit!”

When Aberforth puts it like that, everything falls apart. But-

“But the muggles hurt our family. They hurt Ariana.” 

“You’ve hurt Ariana!” Aberforth shoves Albus out of the way and shuts the door behind them. Their feet skid around on the cobblestone. While they live in the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow, it’s lucky that Albus enchanted their house with strong muggle-repellent charms like Gellert wanted. Otherwise, their shouting match would have attracted a crowd by now. Only a high hedge shields them from the country road. “Ariana doesn’t want this. And she certainly doesn’t want to come on your wild goose chase that’s only going to send you lot to Azkaban! If you want to fuck off for good, then do it. But don’t bring Ariana.”

Rapid footsteps catch up to them and a familiar hand lands on Albus’ shoulder, it’s Gellert. He dressed in a hurry, but if he’s here now, that means that their plan will work. Aberforth is the one in the wrong here.

“Oh, _great._ It's like you’re attached to the hip,” Aberforth fumes. “Do I need to repeat myself?"

“I heard you loud and clear, thank you.” Gellert eyes Aberforth like he’s mud on his shoes. He has never been this mad before. “You don’t understand,”

“No, you’re just delusional. You’ve somehow managed to fool Albus, but I see right through you. Seemed like you’re the brains behind the operation.” Aberforth scoffs and turns to Albus. “Isn’t it an awfully convenient coincidence that he swooped in right after Mum died and managed to convince you of all this?” 

Albus’ words fail him. 

“You need to shut up, right now,” Gellert hisses.

“Make me, you git.” 

Geller draws his wand in a clear threat. He points it in a straight line with a perfect posture. Albus still can’t find his breath, but Aberforth certainly can.

“Come on, then, you bugger! Show me what you’re made of!”

And the duel begins. Albus finds his wits and wand halfway through and shields them both from the other’s attack. Aberforth shouts his curses, Gellert stays silent. Bolts of red light ricochet off just about every possible surface. A magpie slaps down dead from the sky. The two duellists catch their winded breaths as the dust settles. Brand new bullethole-like shapes mar the grey stone of the house wall.

“Gellert, you need to stop this. Now,” Albus demands. There’s an authority in his voice, something he’s not heard in a very long time. It goes ignored. “Expelliarmus!”

Gellert parries non-verbally without so much as looking at him. “Stay out of this,” Gellert snarls. He has never been like this before.

“You’re going to have to try harder to beat me, you arse-” Aberforth’s vocabulary is up to his usual standard, though.

“You- You Arschgesicht!” Gellert treats his words like fatal ammunition. 

It backfires. Aberforth’s eye twitches and he doesn’t back down. “I don’t even know what that means, but bring it on then, you wee cunt!” That one he has most definitely learned from Hogsmeade locals. It fills Albus’ chest with a strange sort of pride.

Gellert silently swishes his wand, not in a straight line but a zig-zag pattern. Albus is quicker and casts a shield charm yet again. The green light bounces off and goes who-even-knows-where. Gellert grits his teeth at both him and at Aberforth’s foul-mouthed jeering. Albus glances out of the corner of his eye, and he spots the herd of cows summer grazing on the nearby field. One of the cows has collapsed in the grass. Her calf nudges its nose against her flank. She’s perfectly still. Fear twists his stomach into knots. Gellert’s not playing fair anymore, he’s trying to kill Albus’ little brother.

But Aberforth doesn’t know that. Gellert doesn’t know yet what Albus knows. Gellert has claimed to know a lot these past two months, but now, there’s no telling what else he lied about. Albus’ head spins. And when the front door suddenly bursts open from the inside, Gellert spins around to point his wand towards a charging Ariana. Albus can’t think. Ariana needs to be protected from anything Gellert could throw at her. And so- 

In slow-motion, Ariana’s windswept hair forms a halo around her head as the sheer force of his panic-powered silent shield charm knocks her off her feet. Then, the pendulum swings. She smashes into the stairs, head-first. Hard. The crushing noise echoes porcelain plates smashing into hardwood floors by uncontrolled magic run amok.

Silence. Sputtering blood paints the stone steps red. She’s dead. Without a doubt. A ringing noise in Albus’ ears consumes him.

“Verdammte Scheiße,” Gellert mutters. He briskly walks past them without much fanfare. Albus watches Gellert leave from a bird’s eye view as if he’s a floating ghost disconnected from his body. Gellert disapparates as soon as he reaches the country road. If Albus is supposed to feel something, he can’t.

Aberforth cradles what’s left of Ariana’s head with one hand, and points to the spot where Gellert disappeared with a blood-soaked finger.

“Yeah, fuck off, you bastard!” He sobs at the top of his lungs. Then, he turns to Albus. “Was it you or him?”

Aberforth doesn’t know who did it.

“Answer me, Albus!”

But Albus knows far too much.

-

Ms. Bagshot had business in town at the time of Ariana’s death and therefore saw nothing. When she asks where her great-nephew went, Aberforth spits on the ground. When she demands to know what happened to Ariana, Albus can’t spit the words out. It was a shield spell. A non-verbal one. Sheer panic made him miscalculate its strength. But he can’t prove it. And so, neither Ms. Bagshot nor Aberforth gets an answer out of him. No-one does.

-

Albus’s nose breaks with a crunch and loud snap when Aberforth smashes his fist into it. The impact with the ground knocks his breath out, too. And if by chance the other guests at Ariana’s funeral gasp in shock or concern, the ringing in his ears drown it out. He was friends with most of the attendees before July began. Now they are strangers to him.

**Too many locations to list, 1900-1944**

The true circumstances surrounding Ariana’s death during the summer of 1899 remain a mystery to everyone but Albus. And so, he pretends that he doesn’t know either. It might as well have been Aberforth or Gellert who dealt the final blow. It can’t be disproven. Or, Ariana’s own brand of explosive uncontrolled magic might have led to her demise. It’s a likely possibility. There’s no way to know.

Albus somewhat becomes a man. A man with a long auburn beard and a fondness for colorful robes embroidered with starry skies. His career is exhilarating and impresses those around him. He fights for the rights of muggle-borns, muggles, and non-human magical beings all the same. It’s the only rational outlook without a third party force-feeding him lies in exchange for crumbs of love and affection back when he was starving for it. A constant twinge of guilt pains him, always, but it drives his passions.

Albus becomes a teacher at Hogwarts. His favorite students are the troubled ones. They blossom with his encouragement. When he closes his eyes, they all have Ariana’s face. They all have her piercing blue eyes, wide in amazement. Not at the subject he’s actually teaching in a dusty classroom, but rather his golden pocket watch as he explains its convoluted mechanics to her back in 1899. 

It hurts.

“All this news about Grindelwald.” A co-worker eyes today’s edition of the Daily Prophet with displeasure. The front page spells out; **Grindelwald, the dark wizard, continues to terrorize Europe**. “Someone’s ought to stop that evil man.”

Albus sips his tea and keeps his head down. Doesn’t want to think of him ever again. 

Aberforth still barely speaks to him, except through mail-exchanged Christmas presents. Albus gets thoughtful gifts based on the little he knows about Aberforth. For a couple of years straight he has been knitting hats for Aberforth’s goats as soon as the first snow falls outside his office window. He has to modify the patterns himself to account for the two-pronged head shape common amongst goats. Sometimes, he accidentally weaves in a long strand of his beard into the stitching and he has to start over again. His brother sends him goat dung in return. It’s their routine.

**The battlefield, 1945**

Grindelwald controls most of Europe now. He’s a genocidal maniac. It can’t go on. Albus finds the decisiveness he’s always had, deep within, and confronts him on a windswept field. Albus wears his best purple velvet suit- if he dies, he will at least go out in style.

Gellert has changed. His once handsome features are bleached and lumpy as if preserved in formaldehyde and left to sit in a jar for forty years. Albus looks quite different now too, he supposes. His long greying beard and glasses prove just how much time has passed since they last saw each other.

Grindelwald’s cold and vicious, and with the Elder Wand in his possession; _terrifying._ But Albus is less afraid than expected. After all, the Gellert of 1945 doesn't claim to love him. 

Grindelwald tries to curse Albus the same way he tried to curse Aberforth all those years ago. One time, two times, three times. He just barely fails.

Grindelwald is finally down to his knees, body-bound by the strongest hex Albus can conjure. He shows no regret.

“I waited for you,” He spits at Albus’ muddy shoes. The surroundings lay wrecked and smoking as if just caught in a meteorite shower.

“You overestimate yourself,” Albus quips. It’s mostly not a lie. There’s no heat to his words because there’s no point. The loose end that is Gellert ties up and confines him in a prison cell in Nurmengard Castle. He’s out of sight and out of mind. Incapacitated. Albus foolishly expected salvation but finds the whole ordeal rather anticlimactic. Too much time has passed for July-August of 1899 to wrap up in a satisfactory manner like this. It’s too late now. All that he really gained was the mastery of the Elder Wand, but he never wanted it in the first place. The first class order of Merlin award isn’t of much interest either. Although it does make him happy that his victory over Grindelwald on the list of accomplishments on his Chocolate Frog card. But he’s no less emotionally stunted than before. 

**Too many locations to list (again), 1946-1980**

Albus declines the offer to become Minister of Magic three times. He becomes headmaster of Hogwarts instead. A position of relative power, but less likely to corrupt him. He doesn’t trust himself to fall in love again. There’s no telling what could happen if he, the greatest wizard of his generation, were to be led astray. His reflection in bathroom mirrors oozes congealed dark-red goo from his eyes, his mouth, and a crack in his skull until he blinks, hard. The Mirror of Erised once showed him happily reunited with a Gellert that neither fed him lies nor betrayed him. They wear matching wedding rings and similarly matching hand-knitted socks. Something saccharine and domestic. Truth be told, that’s all he dreamed of since the first time they met in Ms. Bagshot’s front yard. Now it’ll never come true, and he has almost made peace with that.

Now, his heart's utmost desire is to reunite with his family. His reflection shows an Ariana even brighter than he is. She becomes the Minister of Magic instead of him. Their parents, both alive, look so proud of her. That wish can’t be granted either.

Despite his supposed position as the greatest wizard of his generation, he fails, yet again, to stop the rise of an evil wizard. But Voldemort (formerly known as Tom), isn’t close enough to heart to avoid. The Order of the Phoenix rises. Aberforth joins unexpectedly.

“Welcome, Aberforth. It’s been too long,” Albus offers his hand in greeting.

Aberforth grunts in response and swats away Albus’ hand. An awkward silence fills the room. The other members of the Order clearly expected the brother of Albus Dumbledore to be someone else. Aberforth shuffles over to an empty chair and sits down in the loudest manner possible (it’s unclear if he does it on purpose or if he just chose a faulty chair at random). “Yeah yeah. Let’s just get on with it.” He’s changed too but in a predictable direction. His long hair and beard are stringy and unkempt and he communicates mostly through dirty looks. Maybe a passive-aggressive compound sentence if he’s feeling chatty. Aberforth never becomes very popular within the Order, but Albus is thrilled he’s here.

The Order makes real progress, but then its member count decimates one by one at the hands of the Death Eaters. The battle seems lost. 

**Godric’s Hollow (again), 1981**

On All Hallow’s Eve, everything changes. Harry Potter, a newly orphaned toddler, becomes a global celebrity.

**Somewhere along the English Coastline, 1997**

Albus’ (quite underhanded) quest to prepare Harry Potter to become the man that defeats Voldemort for the second time leads them here. In a deep cave, crossing an inferi-infested lake by boat. He has the scared yet brave now sixteen-year-old version of Harry in tow. He grew so tall, so fast. Albus can’t believe his own part in this is soon to be over. Acquiring another Horcrux to destroy will be one of his last actions in the war. Then, he’ll-

The contents of the basin need to be ingested to reach the Horcrux. 

He drinks one cup-full of the potion, and it burns his insides. Even his blackened, otherwise numb right hand throbs in pain. Harry reluctantly forces him to drink more of the concoction as the ghosts of Ariana, Mum, and Dad all swirl around him. 

Suddenly, he’s not a frail silver-haired man burdened by regret and advanced age anymore, but young. Naive. The Albus of 1899. The memories tangle and distort. Gellert from the summer they spent together is now the murderer of everyone Albus neglected and/or tried to forget about. Teenage Gellert is far scarier than the man he poorly aged into. Grindelwald, the mass murderer that Albus bested in a duel to the death on a muddy field in 1945 has been dealt with already. The younger Gellert that wanted Albus as his loyal attack dog (and to be at his beck and call to provide a warm body whenever he saw fit) is forevermore scratched into Albus' corneas.

_“Please don’t hurt them,” Albus pleads him. Gellert smirks and steps over the mangled corpses of Albus’ parents. Ariana and Aberforth twist in dual pain on the ground, barely alive._

_Albus tries to run to his siblings’ rescue, but his feet get stuck in thick dark mud. Gellert embraces him from behind with both of his arms around Albus’ waist. He’s gentle for now, but the mud pulls Albus even deeper and paralyzes him. Their hands interlace in a vice-hard grip with Gellert's wand (elder wood, 15 inches, with a Thestral tail-hair core) trapped betwixt Albus' fingers. His arm is raised against his will and the wand points to his siblings. Their screams of pain grow louder._

_Gellert's calm steady heartbeat pressed against his back contrasts with his own heart that spasms, trips over itself, and overheats a hundred times over. The embrace tightens the more he struggles. No escape, no one's coming to rescue them._

_Gellert whispers the final words right into the shell of Albus' ear. Aberforth’s and Ariana’s bodies flop around under the green flash of light. Then, they go still._

_Kill me, Albus wants to say, but mud wells up his throat and gags him. Gellert’s steel-toe boot stomps Ariana’s skull into cracking bone shards, oozing blood and squelchy pink matter. The gore on the ground mixes with the mud that drips down in thick chunks from Albus’ chin._

Slimy ice-cold water splashes his face. Harry’s shrill voice, panicked fluttering hands, and deathly pale face bring Albus back to the present. Ah, how he royally screwed Harry up. The inferi of the lake attack. They all have Ariana’s corpse-slack face until he conjures a fiery blast strong enough and they scurry away like rats. With Harry’s help, he (and the Horcrux) somehow makes it out of the cave. Good. Severus Snape waits for him at Hogwarts. They made a promise, and Albus intends to keep it.

**Hogwarts (again), 1997**

Albus Dumbledore dies at the top of the Astronomy Tower. The force of Severus Snape’s killing curse knocks him off his surprisingly elegant footwear-clad feet. It sends him flying, almost soaring; _gracefully._ His brittle corpse floats over the edge of a wide glassless windowsill, free-falls, and his bones break into a million pieces at impact with the grass lawn below. A man filled with over a hundred years of regret, smashed into partially unrecognizable mush by the brute force of gravity. 

Able to finally say;

“I’m sorry, Ariana. I’m so, so sorry. I was trying to protect you, but I failed. If it’s of any interest after all these years I can explain the pocket watch to you.”

Ariana shushes him. She's happy now. Confident. Her vocabulary rivals Aberforth, but she says it all with a toothy smile. "I already knew how to read the dial, you prat. Dad showed me before he died. I was just trying to make conversation.” Dad nods in agreement and Mum is somewhere between ashamed and amused at her daughter’s lack of manners.

Albus never gets absolved of guilt, but they move on. At last, Ariana’s hands cusp the golden locket and her eyes mirror all the wonders of the cosmos once more.

**Hogsmeade, 1998**

Aberforth Dumbledore watches Harry Potter and his companions leave through the hidden passage to Hogwarts through Ariana’s portrait. He wipes at the bar desk of the Hog’s Head with a dishrag that only thickens the layer of grime covering the hardwood.

So, his brother was never free, according to _the_ Harry Potter. Albus had regretted Ariana’s death for all of his life. He hadn’t just forcibly forgotten about it like Aberforth always thought. 

Well, if the chosen one says so. Aberforth pours himself a glass of firewhiskey.

“Guess I’m stuck fighting your war, Albus. You left me behind, again,” He sighs so deeply that his bones creak. He toasts towards the murky corner where his brother would sometimes sit, usually in disguise. Mostly it was on Order business. But after the first fall of Voldemort, sometimes his brother would come just to sit there. They wouldn’t talk much. But they were in the same room, at least. The bare minimum of what it means to be family. Albus’ funeral had been the closest Aberforth had been to his brother’s physical body (now turned corpse) in decades.

Well, shit. Even if Albus had been the one to kill Ariana, it had been by accident. While it was truly horrible, it happened a century ago. His brother was born a snobby git and died not much different, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Aberforth never got along with him, but his positive and negative actions combined add up to a number above zero. And while Aberforth can only speculate about the true nature of his brother’s past relationship with Grindelwald (he has a quite strong guess, though), that bloke obviously had bad intentions from the start. It wouldn’t be surprising all if their relationship was a big contributor to how messed up Albus became.

While Aberforth can’t quite forgive, he can let go.

Aberforth gives Ariana’s portrait a toast and shoots his firewhisky in one gulp. Stray droplets of the high-percentage alcohol find their way into his beard. He leaves it be. Dunks the dirty glass back on the bar desk. Sighs again.

“I don’t have time for this,” he mutters and leaves to help defeat Lord Voldemort a second time.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. pls leave kudos and comments if u want! :o
> 
> german translations notes by @kittyquark  
> "Tante Bathilda? Ich hab mich gefragt woh Ich denn mein gepäck hinstellen sollte!" = “Aunt Bathilda, I was wondering where I should put my things.”  
> “Aber hallo! Eeh, ne-,” = “Why, hello there!(in a flirtatious way). Uh, no-”  
> Arschgesicht = assface  
> Verdammte Scheiße = fucking shit


End file.
